1958 - Hit and Run Page 5

  ‘You’re not serious, are you?’

  She thought for a long moment, then she jumped to her feet.

  ‘No, I don’t think I am,’ she said. ‘I’m feeling chilly. I’m going to get dressed.’

  She picked up her dress and shoes and ran off towards the car.

  I sat like a stone man, my hands still gripping the towel. I remained like that for perhaps ten minutes, then I heard her calling me.

  ‘Ches ...’

  I didn’t move and I didn’t look around.

  ‘Aren’t you coming, Ches?’

  Still I didn’t look around.

  Then I heard her running across the sand and in a few moments she paused at my side.

  ‘Didn’t you hear me call you?’ she asked, standing over me, her long, slim legs level with my eyes.

  I looked up.

  She had on her dress now, but it didn’t help me to know she had nothing on under the dress.

  ‘Sit down. I want to talk to you.’

  She dropped on the sand within a few feet of me and curled her legs under her.

  ‘Yes, Ches?’

  ‘Would you really like to go for a drive tomorrow and have a picnic – the two of us?’

  The moonlight was directly on her face. She showed her surprise.

  ‘I thought you said ...’

  ‘Never mind what I said. Would you like to do it?’

  ‘Why, yes, of course I would.’

  ‘Okay. Tell your husband you want to spend the day with me and if he agrees, then we’ll go.’

  She stiffened.

  ‘But I can’t do that. You know I can’t. He – he doesn’t know I know you.’

  ‘Then tell him we’ve got acquainted.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ She leaned forward and stared at me. ‘You sound so angry. What is the matter, Ches?’

  ‘Tell him we’ve got acquainted,’ I repeated, not looking at her.

  ‘But I can’t do that. He wouldn’t like it.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Ches, I wish you would stop this. You know as well as I do why he wouldn’t.’

  ‘I don’t know. You tell me.’

  ‘He’s jealous and silly about me. He wouldn’t understand.’

  ‘What wouldn’t he understand?’

  ‘Ches, you’re being horrid. What’s the matter?’

  ‘I asked you what wouldn’t he understand?’ I said, turning to meet her eyes. ‘You tell me. Just what wouldn’t he understand?’

  ‘He doesn’t like me going around with other men.’

  ‘Why? Doesn’t he trust you?’

  She remained silent and stiff, her eyes searching my face.

  ‘Does he think you’ll be unfaithful if you go out with some other man?’ I demanded.

  ‘Ches! What is the matter? Why are you so angry? Why are you speaking to me like this?’

  ‘Would he think you’d be unfaithful to him if you went out with me?’

  ‘I don’t know. Ches, please, I don’t like this. If you are going on like this I’m going to leave you.’

  ‘Why don’t you like it?’ I said, suddenly furious. ‘What’s the matter with facing facts? You’re a married woman, aren’t you? You’re not a virgin. You must know what a man thinks when a girl as lovely as you brings him to a lonely spot like this where there’s no one about and at night. Or are you so dumb you don’t know?’

  She flinched back, her expression changing to shocked anger.

  I leaned forward to stare at her.

  ‘Are you in love with me, Lucille?’

  She stiffened.

  ‘In love with you? Why, no. What are you saying, Ches?’

  The black bile of disappointment made me a little crazy.

  ‘Then why bring me here? Why did you force yourself on me?’ I demanded, my voice rising. ‘What do you imagine I am? Do you think I’m made of stone?’

  ‘I’m going ...’

  She started to her feet. I reached out, grabbed her wrist and jerked her to me. She fell across my knees, her back arched, her face close to mine as I bent over her.

  ‘Ches! Let me go!’

  ‘I’m not made of stone,’ I said, the blood hammering in my temples. I tried to get my mouth down on hers, but she began to struggle and I found her surprisingly strong. For a long, horrible moment I tried to subdue her. Then she got one hand free and struck me violently across my face.

  The blow brought me to my senses.

  I let go of her. She rolled clear of me and scrambled to her feet.

  I sat there on the hot sand staring at her, my breathing fast.

  She turned and ran towards the car.

  I remained still, staring towards the sea, then I heard the engine of the Cadillac start up.

  I got quickly to my feet.

  The Cadillac was moving.

  ‘Lucille! Don’t ... Lucille!’

  The car engine roared, then the car lurched into a wild, skidding circle and went away fast along the beach road.

  ‘Lucille!’

  I started to run, then stopped.

  I stood motionless, my fists clenched, and listened to the steady roar of the car engine until it had died away.

  chapter four

  I

  It took me about forty minutes to walk back to my bungalow.

  As I walked, I brooded over the scene I had had with Lucille. I told myself I must have been out of my mind to have done what I had done. It would serve me right if she went straight to Aitken and told him. Probably at this very moment she was telling him. I was too sick with myself to care. Again and again I saw her look of startled surprise when I had asked her if she loved me, and again and again I heard her reply: the words kept hammering in my mind.

  My bungalow stood in a little garden, fifty yards from the sea. The nearest house was a quarter of a mile farther along the road: a house owned by a wealthy broker, Jack Seaborne, who only came for a month in the summer.

  As I walked up the path from the beach, I saw there was car parked before my front gate. I had only to take a few more steps up the path to see it was my Cadillac.

  Then Lucille appeared from out of the shadows.

  ‘Ches ...’

  I came to an abrupt stop, staring at her.

  ‘I’ve brought your car back,’ she said in a small voice.

  She too had stopped. A couple of yards separated us.

  ‘Lucille, I’m sorry. I really am. I lost my head ...’

  ‘Don’t talk about it.’

  ‘I’ll take you home.’

  ‘Could we go inside first? There’s something I must tell you.’

  ‘Better not. Come on. I’ll take you home. You can tell me in the car.’

  She lifted her thick hair off her shoulders with a movement that hinted oddly of despair.

  ‘Please, can’t we go inside for a moment?’

  She was standing in the full light of the moon. She looked tense and there was a terror in her eyes that frightened me.

  ‘We’ll talk as I drive. You’ve got to get back ...’ I stopped short as she began to sway. Her eyes suddenly rolled back and her knees buckled. I jumped forward as she began to fall and I caught her in my arms.

  ‘Lucille! For God’s sake! What is it?’

  She collapsed against me, and I let her down gently to the ground. Kneeling beside her, her head against my chest, I held her to me. Her head dropped back. In the moonlight, she looked as white as a ghost. She looked so bad she frightened me.

  Then her eyelids fluttered and opened. She stared up at me, then she tried to sit up.

  ‘Take it easy,’ I said. ‘Don’t move ...’

  She rested her head against my shoulder and closed her eyes. I put my hand under her knees and lifted her. She was lighter than I expected her to be. I had no trouble carrying her up the path to the front entrance to the bungalow.

  ‘I’ll be all right now,’ she said. ‘Let me down. I’m sorry. I’ve never done this before.’

  I set
her down, holding her against me as I groped for my I found it, opened the door, then I picked her up again and carried her into the lounge. I laid her on the divan by the window.

  ‘Stay quiet,’ I said, and leaving her I went back into the hall and shut the front door. Then I came back and turned on the lights in the lounge.

  She lay still, staring up at the ceiling, her eyes like holes cut from a sheet.

  ‘I’ll get you a drink,’ I said. ‘I can’t say how sorry I am I behaved like this. A drink will pull you together.’

  ‘I don’t want one,’ she said and covered her face with her hands. She began to cry.

  I went over to the liquor cabinet, poured a little brandy into a glass and took it over to her.

  ‘Drink this. It’ll pull you together.’

  ‘No, please.’ She turned her head away. ‘Ches, I’m terribly sorry. I’ve damaged your car.’

  ‘There’s no need to faint about that, and stop crying. You don’t have to cry because you’ve damaged my car.’

  She turned on her side and looked up at me. I was startled to see how white she was. There was a scraped bony look about her face that made her eyes look enormous.

  ‘I didn’t mean to do it,’ she said, the words coming so fast it was difficult for me to follow what she was saying. He came up beside me and shouted at me. I didn’t know he was behind me. I lost control of the car. There was an awful bang. There’s a big scratch right along the door and the fender’s dented.’

  Suddenly I felt an icy chill start up my spine.

  ‘What are you trying to tell me? Have you hit someone?’

  She looked away from me and stared up at the ceiling. Her hands turned into fists.

  ‘It wasn’t my fault. I swear it wasn’t. He came up from behind and shouted at me. I didn’t even know he was there until he started shouting.’

  ‘Who? Who shouted at you?’

  ‘This policeman. He was on a motorcycle. He came up beside me and shouted ...’

  I put down the glass of brandy and went over to the divan and sat beside her.

  ‘You don’t have to be frightened. Just tell me what happened.’

  She began to beat her clenched fists together.

  ‘I swerved when he started shouting. The side of the car hit him ...’ She broke off and began to cry again.

  I put my hands on my knees and squeezed until my knuckles turned white.

  ‘Crying won’t help,’ I said sharply. ‘What happened when you hit him?’

  She drew in a long, shuddering breath.

  ‘I don’t know. I just kept on. I didn’t look.’

  I sat for a long moment, motionless, aware that my heart was beating heavily and sluggishly. Then I said: ‘You mean you didn’t stop?’

  ‘No. I was frightened. I drove straight here.’

  ‘Was he hurt?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Just where did this happen?’

  ‘On the road leading from the beach.’

  ‘You didn’t hear him shout after you?’

  ‘No. There was this awful bang against the side of the car, and that was all. I drove straight here. I’ve been waiting for you for more than half an hour.’

  ‘Were you driving fast?’

  ‘Yes.’

  For a long moment I sat staring at her, then I got up.

  ‘I’ll be back in a moment. I want to look at the car.’

  I got up and crossed the room to my desk. I took from one of the drawers a powerful flashlight. As I went out of the room, I heard her give a little sighing moan, and that chilled my blood as nothing else had done so far.

  I walked down the path to the car. In the light of the moon I could see at once that the on-side front fender had been damaged. When I turned on the flashlight I was able to see just how extensive the damage was.

  The front headlamp was smashed and the fender buckled. There was a deep dent in the door panel and a long scar had been ripped into the paintwork. It ran in a jagged line the length of the door.

  These details I took in with one brief glance. Then I moved around the car. There was a bright red stain that glistened in the light of my torch on the offside fender of the rear wheel. The white ring around the offside tyre was also sticky with the stuff. It didn’t take me more than a second or so to accept the fact that this was blood and I stared at it, feeling cold and sick.

  It looked as if she had sideswiped the motorcycle, knocked the driver off, and had run over him with the rear wheel. And she hadn’t stopped!

  I turned off the flashlight and stepped back. The sweat on my face felt clammy and cold in the hot night air. He was probably in the road bleeding to death at this moment.

  I went quickly back to the lounge.

  She was still lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling, her fists clenched and her breath coming in quick, uneven gasps. She looked pretty bad.

  I picked up the glass of brandy and went over to her.

  ‘Here, drink some of this,’ I said. ‘Come on: it’s no use crying.’

  I lifted her head and made her drink a little. Then she pushed the glass away with a shudder.

  ‘I’m going to see what has happened,’ I said. ‘Wait here. I’ll be as quick as I can.’

  She nodded, not looking at me.

  I looked at the clock on the overmantel. The time was twenty minutes to eleven.

  ‘Just wait here. I shouldn’t be long.’

  Again she nodded.

  I left her and went down to the Cadillac. I paused and looked at the broken headlamp and the bent fender. I realized I would be crazy to take the car out on the road in this condition. If someone spotted the damage they might put two and two together when the news broke in the morning’s papers as I knew it must break.

  And yet I had to have a car and have it fast. Then I remembered that Seaborne who owned the house farther down the road kept a car in his garage for his vacation. I had been to his place off and on, and I knew he kept the key of the garage on a ledge above the garage doors. I decided to use his car.

  I got in the Cadillac and drove fast down the road to the house. Leaving the Cadillac outside, I went to the garage, found the key and opened the double doors.

  Seaborne’s car was a battered 1950 Pontiac: a car he carted his six children around in when he came down here. I drove the Pontiac out on to the road, left it with its engine ticking over, then I got into the Cadillac and backed it into the garage, shut and locked the doors. I dropped the key into my pocket.

  I got into the Pontiac and drove fast to the highway. It took me ten minutes to reach the beach road.

  I approached the intersection cautiously. There were about six cars parked along the grass verge, their dipped headlamps making puddles of light along the road. A bunch of men and women were standing together looking towards the head of the beach road. Blocking the entrance to the road were two speed cops, standing beside their parked motorcycles.

  With my heart slamming against my ribs, I pulled up behind | the last of the parked cars and got out.

  There was a fat man with a Panama hat resting on the back of his head standing alone by his car, his hands in his trouser pockets, staring at the speed cops.

  I walked over to him.

  ‘What goes on?’ I said, trying to make my voice sound casual. ‘What’s the trouble?’

  He turned to look at me. It was dark, and the lights from the headlights of the cars reflected downwards. He could see my legs and feet, but there wasn’t much else of me he could see to recognize later.

  ‘An accident,’ he said. ‘A cop got himself killed. I’ve always said these cops ask for trouble the way they get in front of you. Well, this one pulled that stunt once too often.’

  I felt cold sweat break out on my face.

  ‘Killed?’

  ‘Yeah: a hit-and-run job. Can’t say I blame the guy who did it. If I was unlucky enough to kill a cop, and there were no witnesses, damned if I would stick around and apologize. If they
catch him, they’ll crucify him. I’ve always said the cops in this town are no better than the Nazis were.’

  ‘Killed him, did you say?’ I scarcely recognized my voice.

  ‘That’s right: ran over his head. He must have hit the side of the car, and then the poor devil must have fallen under the rear wheel.’ He pointed to a tall, thin man who was talking busily to the crowd. ‘That’s the fella who found him: the one in the grey suit. He told me. He said the poor guy’s face was like a sponge of blood.’

  Suddenly one of the speed cops came stalking across the road.

  ‘Hey, you bunch of vultures!’ he bawled, his voice violent and tough. ‘I’ve had about enough of you. Get out of here! You hear me? It’s swine like you in your hunks of metal who cause the accidents! Get out of here! Get out, the lot of you!’

  The fat man said out of the corner of his mouth: ‘See what I mean – a Nazi,’ and he walked over to his car.

  I went back to the Pontiac, started the engine, made a U-turn and drove back fast to the bungalow.

  When I walked into the lounge, I found Lucille huddled up in one of the big easy chairs. She looked very small and defenceless and frightened, and her face was the colour of old parchment.

  As I came into the lounge, she stiffened and stared up at me.

  ‘Is it all right, Ches?’

  I went over to the cocktail cabinet, poured myself a double whisky, added a little water and drank thirstily.

  ‘No, I wouldn’t say it is all right,’ I said, moving to a chair near hers. I sat down, not looking at her.

  ‘Oh.’

  There was a long pause, then she said: ‘Were you able … did you see ...?’

  ‘The police were there.’ I couldn’t bring myself to tell her she had killed him. ‘I didn’t see him.’

  Again there was a pause, then: ‘What do you think we should do, Ches?’

  I looked at the clock on the overmantel. It was now twenty minutes past eleven.

  ‘I don’t think we can do anything,’ I said.

  I saw her stiffen.

  ‘You mean we don’t do anything at all?’

  ‘That’s what I mean. It’s getting late. I’m going to take you home.’